


palimpsest

by oryx



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:35:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oryx/pseuds/oryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mayu knows everyone in the village... except for the two men who live out on Crooked Hill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	palimpsest

They arrive during Mayu’s seventh winter.

 

News travels fast in a sleepy place like Haozhi. In three hours’ time the entire village is abuzz with gossip, whispering about the two strange men who came from the north, wearing clothes that looked just a little too fine, carrying only one small pack between them.

 

“Not merchants, that’s for sure,” says the blacksmith’s wife. “They don’t have nothin’ to sell!”

 

“Certainly not monks, either,” says her friend. “They got a hard look to ‘em, if you catch my meaning.”

 

“They paid for their room with some fancy coin I never seen in all my days,” says the innkeeper, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But it looked real enough to me, so I accepted it all the same.”

 

He takes one of the coins from his pocket and everyone crowds around, eager to catch a glimpse of the beautiful, gleaming silver, the face of Avatar Aang etched meticulously into its surface.

 

“Maybe they’re robbers or murderers hidin’ out from the law!” Mayu exclaims, bouncing up and down in her seat.

 

Aunt Sae shushes her. “Don’t be makin’ up such wild conjecture, child.” But her fingers twist the hem of her skirt nervously, and the rest of the adults exchange wary glances.

 

“No matter,” says a paper-thin voice from the back of the room. Every head turns to look at Old Jindai, whose expression is solemn and thoughtful. “We best leave them be. People like that don’t want to be bothered, and they certainly don’t want anyone pryin’ into their personal affairs. They’re city folk, from the looks of it, and this village has nothin’ of interest to them. Mark my words – they’ll be gone in a few days’ time.”

 

But “a few days” come and go, and still the two strange men remain. A week passes, and another week after that, and still they remain, holed up in their room at the inn, only stepping out to buy supplies here and there. The townsfolk begin to get worried; begin to lock their doors at night and keep their children close by. _What if little Mayu was right?_ they think. _What if they’ve brought trouble to Haozhi?_

 

One evening, the mayor comes by the tavern. He orders a cup of Aunt Sae’s finest rice wine and cradles it wearily as the rest of the tavern’s patrons look on with bated breath.

 

“They bought the old abandoned house up on Crooked Hill,” he says finally. “Plan to settle down here, it seems, at least for a time. Wonderin’ where they can get a sturdy boat for fishing.”

 

An anxious silence blankets the room like a dense fog, but Mayu can’t help but smile.

 

(She’s been waiting seven years for something this exciting.)

 

\--

 

\--

 

Aunt Sae tells her not to go near Crooked Hill anymore.

 

“You keep away from those men,” she says, taking Mayu by the arm and shaking her. “I know how you are, child. Always stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. But this is different, y’hear? Those _men_ are different.”

 

Mayu looks out the window at the muddy streets and drab old buildings of Haozhi, where nothing ever changes. She looks out at the plain, ordinary people whose names and faces and voices are all ingrained in her mind, and wonders why “different” is such a bad thing to be.

 

Of course she goes to the hill. She waits until Aunt Sae is preoccupied with laundry and then slips out the backdoor, laughing to herself as she sneaks away. Crooked Hill is just a little ways south of the village mainstay, a seemingly-innocent incline that drops off sharply into the ocean when you least expect it. Take a dive off Crooked Hill and there would be nothing but jagged rocks and an angry grey ocean to greet you. Why anyone had chosen to build a house there was difficult to say, but Old Jindai claimed that it had been there as long as he could remember (which was, of course, a very long time). And now the newcomers had claimed the old shack as their own.

 

Mayu approaches cautiously. There are no visible signs of life from within – they must be out, fishing on their weather-beaten rowboat or fetching water from the river. She circles around the place once, just in case, and then stands on her tiptoes, trying in vain to peer through the window.

 

“Searching for something?” says a voice from behind her.

 

Mayu spins around to find one of _them_ standing just a few feet away, carrying a bundle of firewood. Her pulse quickens, and there is a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, but the man doesn’t look angry. Instead, he merely looks bemused.

 

“Get the door for me, will you? My hands are full.”

 

Mayu stares at him for a long moment, and then obliges.

 

\--

 

He says his name is Sheng, and that his brother’s name is Hanbei, but the way he speaks these names is strange and distant.

 

“What’re your _real_ names?” Mayu asks. “I can keep a secret, I swear!”

 

“Sheng” laughs quietly. “I do not doubt your honor, girl,” he says. “Maybe another time, I will tell you.”

 

He has a very pleasant face, Mayu thinks, younger and less severe than she remembers it being. His skin is darker than when they first arrived, tanned by the sun, making him look more like his so-called “brother.” His hair is longer, too, and lighter in shade, tied back loosely at the nape of his neck. But his eyes… His eyes are strangely sad. She wonders, not for the first time, what it is these men were running away from when they came to Haozhi. What did they hope to forget, here at the remote ends of the earth? What were they trying to leave behind?

 

The door opens, and “Hanbei” steps inside, a net full of fish slung over his shoulder. He glances at his brother, then towards Mayu, then back again. His eyes narrow and his lips twist into a frown.

 

“Who might this be?” he asks.

 

“This is Mayu,” Sheng says, smiling broadly. “She’s here to welcome us into the neighborhood. Isn’t that kind of her, brother? And here we thought we were being purposefully ignored.”

 

Hanbei simply sighs and shakes his head exasperatedly, disappearing into the back room with his catch.

 

“Don’t mind him,” Sheng says. “He’s been in a foul mood since we got here. This trip was my idea, you see, and I don’t think he enjoys my choice of locale.”

 

“Trip?” Mayu echoes. “You mean you’re not stayin’ here?”

 

“Goodness, no. I’ve long dreamt of settling down and living a quiet life, but not _this_ quiet. We’ll be here a few months at most, and then we’ll be on our way. Much to the relief of the locals, I’m sure.”

 

They sit in silence, watching dust motes twirl through the stagnant air, and then Mayu asks:

 

“What’s it like? The city, that is.”

 

Sheng ponders this for a while.

 

“It’s very interesting,” he says finally, each word slow and deliberate. “There’s always something new to see – always some new secret to discover. There are more people there than you can possibly imagine, and buildings far taller than trees, and things happening all around you, never ceasing, even at night. It’s beautiful, in a way. Beautifully alive. But… it can be rather awful, too. And no matter how hard you try, you can’t change anything. The ugliness will always be there, just beneath the surface, slowly driving you mad. You know how it goes. You know about survival of the fittest – the strong feed on the weak, end of story. But you can’t help but wish that everyone could be equal. Wouldn’t life be better that way? Wouldn’t everything just – ”

 

Sheng pauses mid-sentence. He puts his head in his hands and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

 

“Maybe you should go, Mayu,” he murmurs. “You’ve been here a while. Your parents must be worried about you.”

 

“… I don’t have any parents,” she says, her voice all hushed and quiet, like she’s telling some terrible secret. “They died when I was really young, and Aunt Sae raised me from then on. To be honest I don’t even remember them much.”

 

Sheng laughs bitterly.

 

“You’re lucky,” he says, and turns away.

 

\--

 

\--

 

“You shouldn’t keep coming here,” he says, frowning at Mayu from across the room. “The townspeople will start avoiding you as well.”

 

“Okay,” she says, but the next day she comes again, asking him to tell her stories of the great cities Ba Sing Se and Omashu, of Fire Nation folktales and ancient Water Tribe lore.

 

Her dreams grow steadily more colorful, and she imagines what it might be like, to travel across the world. To see things beyond her comprehension. To experience something new and beautiful every single day.

 

(She wishes they might take her with them when they leave, but doesn’t have the heart to ask.)

 

\--

 

\--

 

It’s warm today (warmer than it’s been in weeks at the very least). Spring is finally making its presence known, fighting back the frost and turning the grass beneath her feet a vibrant green once more. From Crooked Hill the ocean looks particularly dangerous and beautiful, whitecapped waves breaking violently against the shore below. Sheng is sitting out on the front stoop when she approaches, and he smiles in that easy way of his, motioning for her to join him.

 

“What have you got there, Mayu?” he asks.

 

“Moon peaches,” she says proudly, holding out the basket for him to take. “From my secret grove! Well… they might not be ripe yet, actually. But you can still eat ‘em even if they’re not. Unripe ones’re good in a pie, you know!”

 

Sheng takes the basket from her reverently. His eyes soften as he folds back the cloth and looks at the small, pale fruits that she took so much time to gather. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “This was very thoughtful.”

 

Mayu shrugs. “I like to share stuff with people I like,” she says. “It’s no big deal. Why’re you sittin’ out here by yourself anyway?”

 

“I’m waiting for Hanbei,” Sheng replies. “He went down to the village to buy a new net and some traps from Baoba. We’re going out together today, like we used to do when we were children. I’m… looking forward to it, oddly enough. It’ll be just like old times.”

 

Mayu makes a face. “Fishing is so boring. Not to mention stupid! If people were meant to be in the water, we would have fins! That’s what I think.”

 

“Oh really?” Sheng laughs. “Not a fan of the ocean, I take it?”

 

“Nope! Bein’ in a boat makes me feel all sick and gross. And it seems like there’s always some dumb person who goes and gets themself drowned ‘cause they swam out too far. I keep far away, thank you very much!” She picks up a handful of sandy earth and lets some of it sift through her fingers. She clenches her fist around the rest of it and carefully channels her power, and when she uncurls her fingers the earth has been molded into the shape of a five-pointed star.

 

“You are an earthbender?” Sheng is looking at her strangely, his expression unreadable.

 

“Yep. Not a very good one though… I can only move pebbles around and stuff like that. Say, Sheng… What about you ’n Hanbei? Are you guys benders?”

 

A shadow flickers across the man’s face. He stares out at the ocean mournfully, and Mayu can’t help but notice how his breathing seems to be synchronized with the rhythm of the waves.

 

“No,” he says softly. “No, we’re not.”

 

\--

 

\--

 

\--

 

_“Leave with me now,” he pleads. “We have a second chance. We can start over together! Please… You’re all I have left.”_

_But Tarrlok merely shakes his head, sadness settling deep into the marrow of his bones. “It’s too late, Noa. Neither of us could escape him in the end. We both became exactly what he wanted us to be. And there’s no going back – not now, not ever.”_

_Noatak stands there at the prison cell door, one hand on the bars, like he’s anchoring himself to this place. Like he’s clinging desperately to some far-off memory, trying not to be swept away._

_“What if I wiped the slate clean?” Noatak whispers. “What if we became different people? Would it still be too late?”_

_With only a moment’s hesitation, he reaches up and presses a thumb to his own forehead._


End file.
